


call me on the line (call me, call me anytime)

by teddy_the_bear03



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M, and brief mention of sexual assault, and gets pegged, bottom jeff, jeff acts like an asshole, neither are in detail but pls be safe, slut jeff the fic, smooches u, top britta, tw for mentions of self harm, very soft, yeah thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddy_the_bear03/pseuds/teddy_the_bear03
Summary: jeff's been acting like an asshole all day today, and britta decides he needs a lesson.
Relationships: Britta Perry/Jeff Winger
Comments: 14
Kudos: 43





	call me on the line (call me, call me anytime)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ivyaugust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivyaugust/gifts), [abed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abed/gifts), [jabedalien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jabedalien/gifts).



“Jeff!”

He’s walking down the hallway when his name is called, dodging the moving obstacles that were other students and trying to navigate his way to the study room. He’d been late once that week already, and wasn’t too keen on disappointing them again - but the voice is recognizable, and he looks behind him, a warm feeling blooming in his chest when he sees her at his side.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he greets her, and delights in the way she rolls her eyes at him but blushes anyway.

“Are we working on the group project for Chang’s class together?” She asks, adjusting the strap of her bag, and he looks at the floor, considering it. Troy and Abed working together was a no-brainer; it was justifiable that Shirley and Annie would, despite their rivalry, and he  _ wasn’t _ inclined to work with Pierce.

“Sounds good to me,” he replies, winking at her, and she shoves him playfully. He knits his eyebrows together, sticking out his bottom lip in a pout. “What, are you immune to my charm?”

“I wish I was,” she teases, and he smiles, too - he likes this, he likes her, when this whole thing was  _ just _ theirs and no one knew about the hand holding under the table, the stolen kisses in the corner of the library. They near the study room and she nods appreciatively when he holds the door open for her, winking back at him in a way that makes him feel as though he’s aflame.

The rest of them are already there, Troy and Abed reenacting some scene from a movie while the others watch, and they don’t even bat an eye when Jeff and Britta hang their bags on the backs of their chairs.

“...I beg your pardon, sir,” Abed says solemnly, before both of them break out into grins and the rest of them around the table begin clapping.

“What movie was that?” Jeff asks, resting his elbow on the table as the duo return to their seats. Troy is visibly panting - the athlete always did try his best for Abed, to the point where Jeff wasn’t sure if their relationship wasn’t just the best friends they’d always come off as.

Sparing a look to Britta, he allows himself a private swell of happiness. Some things were better off as secrets.

Abed glances up. “ _ The Grand Budapest Hotel _ , directed by Wes Anderson.” He points a singular finger gun at him, mischief sparkling in his brown eyes. “It was the first train scene.”

Jeff makes a noise of acknowledgement. “Pretty cool,” he compliments, “glad I could catch a little of it.” Abed ducks his head down, obviously pleased, and Jeff allows the praise to sink in before continuing.

“So!” Jeff brings his hands down on the table with a loud smack, startling everyone enough for them to jump in their seats. “Chang’s project - who’s pairing up with who?”

Troy and Abed point at each other and then hi-five; Jeff was right in that assumption. “He speaks Spanish better than anyone I know!” Troy giggles, so earnest the ex-lawyer almost believed him, and Abed touches his hand in silent thanks.

Annie purses her lips together, raising her hand prior to quickly putting it back down again. “I actually already have a partner,” she says, suddenly very interested in the plastic of her binder, “she isn’t in our study group, but… she’s really good at Spanish, and I already promised her I would, and-”

“Alright, alright, we get it,” Shirley interrupts, patting her lightly on the shoulder. To his surprise, the elder woman turns to him, rouge lips curling upward as she does so. “I was thinking Jeff and I could partner together? It’s been a bit since we have!”

Jeff tilts his head, refusing to meet eyes with Britta as he shakes his head affirmatively. “I’d love to,” he agrees, trying his best to keep the joy out of his voice, and he hears Britta inhale sharply behind him.

“I guess that leaves me and you, Britta!” Pierce says, drumming his hands on the table excitedly, and Jeff hides an amused smile behind his hand. He spares a glance at the blonde, who’s fixing him with an ugly look - she mouths a furious “seriously?” to him, and he has to disguise his laugh with a coughing fit. Her jaw sets and she turns away from him, and he resists the impulse to rub her thigh, delighting in her short-lived aggression.

God, he was going to get it for this.

* * *

The cafeteria was loud, the clanging of chairs against linoleum echoing off the crudely painted walls. People sat at tables, gesturing wildly to one another as they talked amiably, and light poured in from the huge glass panes that show the rest of the campus in the noontime sun. Jeff scoured the area for any sign of someone that he knew as he entered, backpack slung over his shoulder - it was mostly crowded with those he didn’t bother to meet or care to know, but as he looks over to the salad station, he sees a familiar head of blonde hair and makes his way over, a spring in his step.

“Hey,” he grins, sidling up next to her, and his heart speeds up when she fixes him with an expression of mock surprise. He crosses his arms, watching as she made her salad with the tongs that had  _ certainly _ not been cleaned well enough to be inside of food.

“Hey yourself,” she replies, reaching so that she could add carrots upon the pile of lettuce she called lunch. She was pretty - her hair fell over her shoulders in tresses, her skin glowing from the natural light that filtered into the lunch room, and he forgets to breathe for a moment before she turns to him, an eyebrow raised. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, y’know,” he says, hands sliding into his pockets in an attempt to seem more nonchalant, “just wanted to check on you.” He, too, grabs one of the bowls stacked on the right side of the stand, and begins to pile it high with lettuce he hoped was still ripe. He’d been looking forward to getting a hot dog, but a salad meant he could talk to Britta, and that was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Tomatoes, yellow peppers, onions and carrots make their way on top and he winks at her, earning him a scoff as she shoves him lightly.

“Are you trying to impress me with your vegetable prowess?” She asks, and he laughs, spinning around her to effectively move himself up one in line. He looks at the dressings - balsamic vinaigrette, ranch, caesar, thousand island - he’s about to grab caesar when he looks at the ranch and an idea pops into his head.

“Maybe a little,” he says, managing to be as assiduous as possible. Ranch was Britta’s favorite and almost entirely empty - so he does what every good boyfriend would do and takes it, using the rest of it on his salad and leaving none for her.

“That’s really sweet, especially after that  _ stunt _ you pulled earlier.” She doesn’t seem to be noticing, sprinkling parmesan all over her own, and when she looks up the bottle is already back in place. She does, however, spot the ranch on his food, and narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Since when are you such a big fan of ranch?”

He rubs the back of his neck, lifting his tray with one hand. “Decided now would be a good time to try it out, why?”

“ _ Jeffrey Winger. _ ” She bites out, lifting the plastic bottle and shaking it to no avail - there was nothing in there to shake and if looks could kill, he’d be on the floor. “I  _ cannot _ believe you right now.  _ Why _ are you being such an asshole today?” 

He smiles sheepishly - one he knew she swore she was immune to, but whenever he did so, it tended to get him out of severe trouble anyway. It isn’t effective enough to put out the fire set ablaze, however, and she grabs the fabric of his sleeve and smacks his arm, causing him to wince in pain and chuckle, shaking his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he laughs, reaching for one of the plastic forks in the bin below him, and she  _ seethes. _   
  
“Jeff, you used all of the ranch! You  _ know _ ranch is the only dressing I like!”

He doesn’t say anything to that - merely shrugging his shoulders and stabbing the lettuce with his newly acquired fork and then simply begins to walk away. She stares at his turned back incredulously before yelling his name and shaking the ranch bottle at him, to which he turns his head and sticks his tongue out.

“Maybe you should try out a new dressing, too,” he teases, calling over his shoulder, and her nails dig into the container so hard they leave imprints.

* * *

The next time he sees her is in economics, where she sits one in front of him. The professor has been droning on for god knows how long, trying to teach those simply there to pass and not to learn, and Jeff finds that the back of her sweater is a lot more interesting than the material being taught. It was black, fuzzy and thick - she’d always complained about the cold and, despite the fact that it was April, the heavy threading didn’t seem to be bothering her.

She was brilliant. If that shirt wasn’t annoying her, then he damn would.

He takes a pencil from out of his bag, trying to make as little noise as possible - if this plan were to go properly, he would need to be as unassuming as he could be. Making sure the eraser was as neat and full, he leans over his desk, pretending to be interested as he pokes her for the first time. She doesn’t turn, the only indication that she felt it the small jolt of her shoulders - he pokes her again and grins when her pretty blue eyes glare daggers at him.

He prods her with the pencil one, two, three times before, instead of looking at him, her hand swings backward in a vain attempt to either snatch the pencil from his hand or hit his arm. No matter the intention, it doesn’t work, and leaves Jeff snickering as he watches her fist grow white knuckled as she clenches it on the desk.

He counts to ten and then begins poking her again, this time in rapid succession. It goes on for longer than he’d like, but it’s worth it when her head finally does turn, whispering out a “what do you want?”. He feigns innocence, tapping the culprit against his desk inaudibly, and he whispers back a “what do you mean?”, batting his eyes a few times. She presses her lips together prior to scoffing quietly, turning back to the lesson.

He decides to tune in for a moment, and immediately regrets it - there wasn’t anything about the stock market this poor excuse of a teacher could tell him that he didn’t know already, and with that, he’s back at it. He taps against her shoulder blades, five times on each side, and then down her spine, alternating pokes between each vertebrae. When he starts tickling the back of her neck with the eraser, however, he bites back a smile -  _ this _ was what he’d been waiting for.

“Oh my  _ god, _ Jeff!” She shouts, whipping around, and her face is flushed with anger - his heartbeat stutters, a strange sense of pleasure shooting down his spine at her aggression. “I swear, you’re being so insufferable!” He has to hold his laughter in, shoulders shaking, when he sees the teacher cock his head at the both of them.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Perry, is there something you’d like to say?” The instructor asks, and she turns to him, mouth opening and closing multiple times in disbelief.

“No, not at all,” she bites out, and he recognizes the grit in her voice with a stone of worry settling into his gut. He really hoped he hadn’t gone too far - then again, teacher's opinions of her always seemed to matter too much to her, and he considered confiding in the professor after the class let out. It was the last one of the day, too - he could put in a good word for Britta, even if it wasted two minutes of his time.

He fiddles with the pencil, pushing it between his two pointer fingers, before he moves it forward and draws a smiley face into her back. When he looks at her face (to gage her reaction, nothing more), he’s pleased to see that the color in her face has gone down and she’s looking at him with an expression he can’t quite read. He draws a heart into her back and then he settles back into his seat, taking a look at the sheet of doodles wearing the thinly veiled disguise of notes.

As he begins sketching another Britta on the page, he decides he really needs to start paying attention.

* * *

It’s late in the afternoon when Jeff finally does arrive home. True to his word, he’d decided to stay behind and apologize for provoking Britta, to which the professor simply shook his head, saying it was no skin off his back and as long as it didn’t happen again, he’d let it go. Jeff had thanked him and then had left the building, breathing in the crisp autumn air, and appreciated his parking job when he only had to walk a few strides to get there.

He drums his hands on the steering wheel, the day’s events rolling over in his mind and the falling, colored leaves serving as their backdrop. He’d been… more than a bit of a dick to Britta today, and wasn’t exactly sure of why - it wasn’t in his nature to necessarily  _ enjoy _ provoking others, just that he liked getting what he wanted, and he admitted to himself that some of the shit he’d done was pretty uncalled for. He agreed to himself that after he got home and unwound, he’d give her a call and tell her he was sorry and maybe send her a flower arrangement, too - making her partner with Pierce was a sin he’d  _ really _ have to try to make up for.

He makes quick work of unlocking his door and taking off his jacket, backpack landing on the hardwood with a thump that rattles the mirror above it. He had homework, but he could tend to that later - what  _ he _ was in the mood for was a hot shower, one that could relax all the tension from his muscles and clear his head of the buzz that community college had perpetually implanted in his ears. Checking the fridge, he decides tonight is going to be takeout night, and then makes his way to the bathroom, sighing in contentment at the fact that he was finally home.

The pitter-patter of water against the tiled floor is loud - loud enough to mask the opening of the front entrance, the click of heels and jingle of keys as they’re placed on the counter. He takes his time, relishing one of the only moments when he could relax, and scrubs his skin until it’s pink with abrasion and heat. When he exits, the mirror is so foggy he can only see his silhouette and the white of his towel, and takes a deep breath of the humid air - he feels warm, pliant and drowsy, and hums an unnamed tune as he exits, the rush of icy air making the melody crack in surprise.

Nothing, however, beats the absolute flash of terror that he feels when he hears  _ footsteps _ behind him, and he whips around, one hand clutching his towel while the other one is raised to strike, and lets out the loudest scream when none other than Britta is standing before him, a hand on her hip and a smug smile on her face.

“What the  _ fuck _ are you doing here?” He demands, panting heavily - all the stress that had once left his body had returned, and here he was, heart beating so fast he’s pretty sure it’s going to pound out of his chest.

“You gave me a key, remember?” She giggles, and he’s happy that at least  _ one _ of them has room to find amusement in this whole thing; his girlfriend pretending she was a home intruder was on the list of things that he  _ wasn’t _ particularly fond of. Then again, with everything that had happened today… Eh, it’s possible that this was entirely called for. She gestures to the counter, where her key ring sits next to his, and looks between that and her as she steps forward, placing her hand gently on his chest to begin walking him backward.

“It’s nice to have you here,” he chuckles, letting himself be pushed by her, “though I’d like to ask  _ why _ you are in the first place.”

He isn’t sure of where’s going, now - he’s relying on Britta to keep him from banging into anything, to not let his shoulders brush the walls of his narrow hallway and to navigate him to wherever she wanted him to be.

“You were a  _ dick _ to me today,” she says, voice like a splash of ice over his head, “and do you really think that you can just walk away from that?” He falls backward when his foot hits something hard - his bedroom door was shut, even though he always left it open, and he wondered briefly how long she’d been here (and if she’d been planning this.)

“I think you need to be punished,” she growls, sliding her hand upward to grab at the hair on the back of his head - he’s jerked back with a small cry and  _ all _ of it shoots a thrill of pleasure straight to his groin. Despite the fact that there was a solid foot of height between them, it was as though he was the one being towered over, and he feels his cock twitch with interest - this wasn’t what he’d been expecting, but god if he wasn’t excited for it.

She stands up on her tiptoes, letting go of his hair so she can steady herself by holding onto his shoulders, and leans in to brush her lips against his jaw. “Is this okay?” She murmurs, and he very violently nods his head - he feels her smile against his stubble and he turns his head to kiss her, warm and tasting faintly of cherries. He cups her face, bringing them closer together, and they’re both content to simply kiss in the dim glow of the hallway light until Britta slides her leg between both of his, bringing it upward and the breath rushes from him in a pleased exhale.

She takes this opportunity to slip her tongue past his teeth, and suddenly everything is so much more hot, so much more passionate - one hand is tangling itself in her hair while the other presses against the hem of her jeans, lifting her shirt so he can thumb at the skin of her stomach. The happy sigh she makes is like music to his ears, and their tongues brush together as his hand ventures up further, trying to unclip her bra with one hand. He tries twice until she pulls away, eyebrows raised.

“I’m gonna get it,” he insists, equally as amused, and his pointer finger gets caught in the latch one last time (prompting a loud giggle from the both of them) before he’s successful and the strain on her chest releases.

She hums, studying his face, and he blushes when she kisses him again - she always had a way of looking at him so reverently, even when she was fed up with him, and when she captures his lips the same time she moves her knee again, he practically short circuits. He moves his other hand from her scalp to flounder for the doorknob, muttering a curse against her as he accidentally hits his knuckle, and when he does get it open he nearly falls backward with both of their weights.

They laugh into each other, hearts both fluttering at the almost-trip and simply being  _ near _ one another, and Jeff attempts to maneuver them in a way so they can stumble to his bed, still wrapped up. To his surprise, Britta pulls away, leaving him to fall onto the mattress with an “oof” - and he watches with wide eyes as she takes off her sweater, the black one he loved so much, and her bra along with it.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, propping himself up on his elbows, and she laughs, unbuttoning her jeans as her cheeks flush with his admiration. She slips them off, taking her time in folding all three articles of clothes neatly, and by the end of it Jeff’s biting his lip and doing everything he can not to reach out and touch her - he knew the stakes were significantly higher here than in their normal trysts, and he wasn’t planning on fucking them up. She steps out of her panties and is halfway through folding them when both of them look up at the ceiling fan - rotating on its lowest setting - and grin maniacally at each other.

Adjusting her fingers like they were a slingshot, she launches them, and misses the blades by a hair - they land on the sheets next to Jeff, and as she reaches to grab them, he gets there first and chucks them across the room. He then presents himself in her line of view, giving her that smile she caved at every single time, and she crawls forward to kiss him again. After that, however, Britta leaves, and he voices sadness in the back of his throat that’s quickly remedied by her ducking beneath their bed.   
  
“Take your towel off,” she orders, “fold it neatly and put it next to my clothes.” Jeff obeys faster than he would to anybody else - he doesn’t complain, simply removes it and folds it the way they both like it, and by the time he’s putting it next to her things, the mattress is molding beneath her weight and a cock ring is held between her fingers. A quick glance to the nightstand shows that she’s already taken out the lube - he looks at it with a shuddering breath, and she rubs his leg with her hand in a soothing manner.   
  
“Do you want this?” She asks, voice devoid of any of its original commandeering intonation, and he nods his head before he settles himself back on the bed. When she doesn’t move, just keeps rubbing his outer thigh, he realizes what she’s waiting for - she always was stern about verbal confirmation.

“Yes, I want this,” he replies, and he couldn’t be more honest - the excitement rushing through his body just at the prospect of what was to come was a buzz he loved more than anything.

“Do you remember the safe words?” She asks, sharp fingernails moving a little closer to his inner thigh, where notch-like scars litter themselves; he’s pretty sure she isn’t doing this on purpose, but it certainly was ironic, and he shifts so that the touch isn’t so harsh.

“Yellow,” he laughs, and she looks down in horror and then frowns, obviously mad at herself. She kneels upward, lifting his jaw so she can kiss him, and apologizes profusely.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even-”

“It’s okay,” he reassures her, arms wrapping around her waist, “you didn’t know. Green is for go, yellow is for slow down, and red is for stop, yeah?” She nods cautiously and his chest swells - she cared so damn much. “We’re gonna have fun tonight, I promise.”

She exhales, squaring her shoulders, and kisses him on the cheek before looking down, his cock half-hard between them. Reaching onto the nightstand, she drizzles lube over her fingers, and is about to slick up the cock ring when Jeff makes a sound of displeasure.

“You’re not even going to warm it up?” He complains, and she stares at him, shaking her head.

“I swear, you are so spoiled,” she mutters, but warms it anyway - he thanks her with a smile, lying down entirely, and props his head up with a few pillows. He’s about to ask if they need to lay out a cloth, but he brushes it off - the sheets needed to be cleaned anyway and they were a lot less scratchy than the cheap towels he’d bought from Walmart. He spreads his legs and she takes her seat between them, and he’s almost entirely convinced she’s a goddess - she looks ethereal in the shadows of dusk, bathed in violet, and he doesn’t hear her calling his name until she says it twice.

“You ready?” She asks, shifting forward, and he breathes out a “yes” before her hand wraps around him, the lube still a little cold but not as much as it would’ve been - he can’t stop himself from rolling his hips upward, eyes sliding shut as her thumb brushes the head of his cock. Britta then slips the cock ring on, although he wasn’t yet entirely hard (the kissing in the hallway had made him excited, but not to his full size), and he groans at the feeling - it was tight, but not to the point where it was uncomfortable, and held snugly at his base. She squeezes him from bottom to top a few times, until he’s breathing heavily and unable to keep himself still, kissing the crown and then sitting up on her knees. 

“I’m gonna set a little rule in place, okay?” She says, less of a proposition and instead an order, and he nods - anything to make her touch him again.

“I don’t think you should be able to come until you say that you’re sorry,” she grins, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers, and he moans slightly at the thought - laid out for her, being hung over the edge with an inability to fall until he admitted he was guilty - something he was terrible at.

“Yes, please,” he agrees, voice raspy with arousal, and he makes a happy noise when she crawls on top of him, bringing their lips together.

She pecks him three times on the mouth before moving to his jaw; working her way down his neck in hickeys that felt like they took forever. He held her close throughout it, stroking at her shoulder blades and ever so often vocalizing his pleasure when she bit him particularly well - sure to leave marks that would last until morning. When she finally was done, kissing at each of his collarbones, he was littered in beautiful shades of coral and rose that left him feeling positively dizzy.

She leans up on her elbow and watches his face as she runs her hand up his waist to his right pec - the pad of her pointer finger brushing his nipple. He let out a high whine, dick twitching at the touch, and leans up into the contact when she squeezes it - his face was hot, knowing her eyes were trained on his expression, but as she twists the bud slightly, he can’t find the ability to hold back. His own blunt fingernails are clutching at her, “oh’s” an octave higher than his normal voice slipping past his lips, and he whimpers when she chuckles, letting go to allow her hand to migrate to his arm, gently caressing the muscles that rippled beneath.

He knew she was holding back the praise she usually showered him with, which made him all the more susceptible to the unspoken kind she was giving him right now. He basks in her attention as she traces the lines of his forearms, the joints of his fingers which he momentarily laces with hers (which earns him a bashful kiss to the shoulder). She feels his ribs, counting them in her head, and his abs prior to slinking down once more - he doesn’t have time to miss the warm weight of her because she’s lifting his leg up, smiling at him devilishly as she beckons for him to hand her a pillow.

A beat passes before he does, reaching behind him, and she helps him lift his hips to adjust the cushion so that his lower body is elevated. After that, she kisses his inner thigh, causing him to shake - she looks up at him for the safe word, and he murmurs a barely audible “green” so that she can continue. She kisses down, down, down until she’s at his ass - her breath is hot against him, and he lets out a small noise when she spreads his cheeks to kiss the puckered hole in between them.

He smelled of his soap and his cologne and she wastes no time - pressing the flat of her tongue against him, gaining a twitch and a strangled gasp from the man above. She licks slowly, deliberately, using one hand to press against his perineum - he squeaks, and she smiles, pushing past the ring of muscle to mouth around him and his moan is far louder this time. She slips her tongue in and out, each time enjoying the groans being drawn from her boyfriend, and when he starts to buck his hips, she pulls away, tutting.

“Don’t move, handsome,” she tells him, and he looks at her, eyes glossy - his dick was fully erect, now, hard against his stomach and flushed red at the tip. He was pink all the way to his chest, and she admires her handiwork as she ducks back down - the hand not stroking his perineum holding his hips to the bed. Though he was far stronger than her (and could easily overpower her if need be), he didn’t, just obeyed and let her tongue fuck him until he was whimpering, letting out little gasps whenever she so much as brushed against him.

“Can I come?” He says, trying desperately to stop himself from grinding down onto her mouth, “please, I’m gonna come, please…” His cock is throbbing, he could feel the heat pooling in his gut, he was so  _ close _ \- but he couldn’t, and was simply subject to Britta as she denies him orgasm and eats him out further.

“No, I don’t think so,” she murmurs, muffled from where she is, “unless you’re sorry?”

Jeff shakes his head, a loud cry escaping him when she  _ sucks _ , and he’s convinced this is the best kind of torture there is. She pulls off of him with a pop, wiping her mouth on her arm, and he’s suddenly very thankful he took a shower before she got here. He feels himself gaping, slick with her spit, and moans gently at the lack of touch - but then she’s there again, snuggling up against his side, and her smile is so lovely and mischievous he barely recognizes that she’s tugging him closer, turning his body so that he was on his side, lifting his calf so it was wrapped around her own.

She reaches for the lube, still set on the nightstand, extending over him and giving him a lovely view of her chest. He can’t resist pressing a kiss to one of her breasts, soft and supple and  _ god _ he loved women, and he chuckles when she squeaks and swats at him. She pours a generous amount over her fingers, snapping the bottle shut and placing it next to her before kissing Jeff’s forehead and guiding them down, brushing them against his hole. He exhales loudly, eyes fluttering closed, and groans low when she slides one in. It’s slick and hot and it takes him more willpower than he ever knew he had not to fuck himself back on the digit, letting it curl inside of him without any say in the matter.

He loved relinquishing control to her. She did it so damn well.

She fucks him with one for a while and then adds another, scissoring him open and making him whimper her name - he held onto her waist hard enough to bruise, head turned into the pillow in a vain effort to quiet himself. When she adds a third he begins to quiver, all restraint thrown to the wind - he pushes onto her fingers, attempting to get them as deep as they could go, and he full-on  _ sobs _ when she brushes his prostate. He feels like he’s on fire - everywhere she touches him, from the fingers inside of him to the way she’s stroking his face, sends sparks shattering down his spine as though he’s a livewire. 

“Please, I… fuck,” he moans, and she grins, knowing what he was going to ask. “Please, can I come, please, Britta, I need it…”

She simply shakes her head and rubs his prostate, and he cries out, length twitching with the inability to finish - if the cock ring hadn’t felt tight beforehand, it sure as hell did now, and he makes a strangled noise when she pulls her fingers out, feeling completely stretched open and empty beyond belief. 

“Please,” he whimpers, and falls onto his back, dick smearing precum from where it rested on his belly.

“You know the rule,” she singsongs, wiping her hand on the sheets, and then fixes him with a softer gaze. “But you also know the safewords. You’re doing so well, handsome.”

Jeff swallows audibly, a grin blooming on his face giving way to just how much he was really enjoying this, and she swings her leg over him so she can kiss him, something not red-hot but warm settling into his stomach - something like love. They make out for a moment, his once-white knuckled hand tucking her hair behind her ear as she ghosts her fingertips across the nape of his neck, until she breaks away with a smile that he’s convinced is the most dazzling thing he’ll ever look at. He leans up just to kiss it, and she chuckles, getting up off of him and stretching in a way that made his dick throb all over again.

“Alright, handsome,” she says, walking to the door, “I’m gonna go get some water and a rag, okay?” Jeff lets out an affirmative hum, not trusting himself enough to be able to form coherent words, and she glances over her shoulder with an affectionate look. “Promise me you’re not going to touch yourself until I get back?”

He gives her a weak thumbs up, watching her stride down the hallway in all her nude glory, and simply waits for her as the fan spins above him. The white noise was comforting, the air cool against his flushed skin, and as he hears clattering in the kitchen, he asks himself -  _ should I do it? _ On one hand, he was really fucking turned on, and his dick  _ ached _ not being paid attention to - on the other hand, he wanted to be obedient as possible for Britta, and it wasn’t like he’d be able to finish if he  _ did _ touch himself. Ultimately, the prospect of getting praised outweighs temporary relief, and he mewls quietly as he waits for her return.

When she does, there’s nothing better - she walks past the door, rag and glass in hand, and her eyes light up when she sees he hasn’t moved from his place on the bed. She sets both the items down before crawling on top of him, fluffing his hair and peppering his cheeks with kisses.

“You did so good, baby,” she praises, and he keens at the words - his hips cant upwards, trying to get any semblance of friction, and she giggles in amusement. “I know,” she murmurs, kissing his lips saccharinely, and she lets him run his hands down her shoulders, holding her arms, moving them down so that they were pressed flush together. The way their frames molded was easy - like they’d been made for each other their whole lives, two patches of the quilted blanket that draped over the universe finally being sewn together. The light in the room was blue, now, and it brought out her eyes, sparkling in the darkness - Jeff wanted to drown in them.

She kisses him one last time, wisps of saliva withering away when she pulls back, and they stare at one another in equal levels of rapture. He doesn’t say anything - there is nothing to say, all his words being poured into the way his calloused fingertips brushed her waist, and she raises her eyebrows in an unspoken question - one he eagerly nods to.

With that, she becomes the one laying on her back, golden hair spread around her head like a halo - she’s always been slightly ashamed of her body, for reasons she only told Jeff late at night when she thought he wouldn’t remember, and he gently traces the deep scar that runs from her right collarbone all the way down to her rib. She exhales tightly and he looks to her face - she nods, and he leans down, gently kissing it and delighting in the soft moan she makes. He takes her nipple into his mouth, and she sighs, her fingers locking themselves in his hair as he does so - she isn’t immune to it, either, and she tries to use a pillow to muffle her moans when he pulls off, cupping her face gently.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, barely audible even to her, “I want to hear you, gorgeous.”

She blushes, swatting at him even though she meant no true harm, and he kisses down her body until he’s at her core, wet already and he presses his lips gently against her. She jumps, hand slightly tugging on his hair, and he waits for her to say “green” before he continues.

He licks at her, tongue dipping into her hole and then lightly drags the muscle around the outside of her clit. She stutters her hips when he moves his hand down to softly prod at her slit, gasping his name like a vice - lapping at her clit makes her all the wetter, and he slips a finger inside of her when she gives him the go-ahead. With each suck against it, she squirms more, and curling his finger has her back arching - pleas of “there, Jeff,  _ fuck _ ,” echo through his mind and he continues doing so with vigor.

He laps against her, clit throbbing happily under the attention, and when her moans rise in pitch, he knows she’s close. He wants to be good, he needs to be good, and so despite his wrist hurting he thrusts his finger in and out, stubble providing ample friction as he sucks the small bud between his lips. She yanks his hair, forcing his face into her as far as it’ll go, and comes with a cry - he stops immediately, knowing how overstimulated she could get, and lets her ride out her orgasm on her own terms.

When he knows he can pull back without her clutching at him, terrified he’ll leave, he smiles sweetly at her as she catches her breath. He traces the line of her cheekbones with devoted hand, in awe of the fact that she was not the prized possession of a museum, but he didn’t mind - it was a privilege to be able to see her like this, wrecked and beautiful, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“What are you looking at?” She teases, settling herself up on her elbows to peck a kiss to the tip of his nose, and he blinks in surprise prior to chuckling.

He couldn’t think of anything witty, simply enthralled by her being. “You,” he replies, entirely honest, and he’s sure she wasn’t expecting that by the way she turns, knowing her cheeks were coloring despite the darkness of the room. The streetlamps had turned on, beaming into his bedroom, and they casted lines upon her face that made her all the more paradisiacal. She then grabs at him, kissing him tenderly and moving in a way that sets him on the bottom again - she was straddling him, dick pressed against her stomach, and he’s about to ask if that’s what she wants when she leans over, reaching under the bed.

He groans, and she chuckles. “Pavlovian response, huh?” She laughs, and he joins in, rubbing his eyes with both his hands.

“Listen, whenever you go under there, I know I’m gonna be done for,” he responds, the heaviness of the situation dissipating, and when she reappears with a strap-on in hand his cock jerks back to full hardness. She’s gorgeous, clipping it on in the moonlight, and he watches with a slightly open mouth as he realizes it’s one of his favorites - six inches, blue and curved in just the right way that it had a tendency to make him scream.

It takes him a moment to understand what she wants him to do when she tosses him the lube, but he instead gets up on unbelievably shaky legs (he’d underestimated how much energy it’d taken out of him) and kneels before her, holding the strapon with one hand while he kisses the tip. He stares up at her, opening his mouth and swallowing down as much as he can while pouring lube into his hand - she cooes, caressing his temple and petting his hair, and murmurs a soft “good boy” as he begins to suck.

He lubes it up to the best of his ability, his own dick aching from being untouched, and only manages to pull himself off when Britta tells him it’s alright and that he did  _ so _ well. He’s panting, lips swollen and god, he was sure he looked like a mess right now - he appreciates his girlfriend’s mercy not to mention it and even more so the way she helps him up, setting him down so that his upper body was leaning on the mattress, all his weight to his forefront as his ass was proudly presented over the edge of the bed.

Every hair on the back of his neck rises as she bows over him, lacing their fingers together with one of her hands while the other guides the dick to press against him - she pushes until he starts to give, and there’s a flash of not-quite-pain, not-quite-pleasure when the head finally sidles inside of him. He tenses up and she drops kisses against his shoulderblades, waiting until he relaxed once more to inch further into him.

“You’re doing so well, handsome,” she reassures him, and he feels himself stretch wider for her - he could only imagine what he looked like right now, and he found it  _ incredibly _ arousing that she was the one doing this to him. It takes a minute, but then she’s fully buried inside him, pelvis flush against him and he moans - it was so fucking  _ big, _ and he was taking all of it, and he lets out a loud, shuddering gasp when he pushes his hips back onto it. “Color?”

“Green,” he says, laughing breathlessly, “blue, chartruce, teal,  _ yes. _ ”

She giggles and pulls out, relishing in the loud whine he elicits when that steady weight is gone, and thrusts back in significantly faster than last time - it feels like all the air has been knocked out of him, like all he knows is Britta and her hands and her perfume and the feeling of her inside of him. She fucks into him in long, deliberate thrusts, all the way out until just the head was in him and then fully sheathed inside of him, until he was clenching at the base. He moaned every time she so much as moved - sweat beaded at his neck and she wipes it off with a gentle finger, making sure every time his muscles rippled that it was out of pleasure and not fear.

When she moves faster, he begins to come undone - his cock is trapped between the sheets and his body, providing friction each time she jostled him, and when he went to jack himself off she took his other hand and pinned it behind his back, earning a high-pitched keen when she hit his prostate at the same time. With one hand rendered useless, the other quickly collapses, and he pitches forward onto the bed; his face collides with the sheets, whimpers significantly more muffled, and she grins to herself -  _ this _ was what she’d been waiting for

“Please, Britta, I’m  _ sorry _ ,” he cries out, blankets clutched tight in his fist, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, please, can I  _ come _ , please…” She knows he’s going to that place, the one where the rest of his vocabulary fades away and all he can manage is “yes,” and “more,” and figures she’ll take what she can get.

“Good boy,” she praises, and he makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob, “I’m so proud of you. Of course you deserve to come, you’ve been so good.” With that, she reaches down, loosening and pulling the cock ring off, and she feels Jeff convulse beneath her - it takes two quick strokes before he’s coming with a cry, white ribbons painting her fingers and his abdomen, and immediately after, he falls limp against the bed, breathing hard.

She murmurs sweet nothings as she pulls out, kicking the strap-on to the side - she could clean that later, as she had more important things to be tending to. Trying not to move him too much, she helps him onto the bed, and grins to herself as she admires her handiwork - he was incoherent, already half-asleep against her, and nuzzling into her side as she begins to clean him off with a rag. He’s too tired to drink water as of now, so she sets a pillow beneath his head and tucks him in, heart swelling at the way his lip curved upwards in his sleep. He was handsome all the time, though she wouldn’t admit it to his face - especially so like this, however, where it was just her private admiration that he would never know of. She kisses him on the cheek, settling in beside him, and traces constellations on the freckles dotting his shoulders as his breathing evens out.

* * *

He blearily blinks himself awake, unsure of what exactly the time was and how long he’d been out for. He searches his surroundings - the lamp adjacent to him was on, the clock blinked nine fourteen in the evening, and a freshly cleaned strap-on was drying on a towel on his bedroom floor. A rush of panic burns through him -  _ where was Britta? Where did she go? Did she leave him? _ \- prior to a hand touching his chest and he meets calm blue eyes with his own, wide in fear.

“Hi,” she says softly, like it’s just for him, and he lets out a slow sigh before cuddling into her arms, his own wrapping around her to pull her close.

“Hey,” he responds, muttering it into her chest, and she begins stroking the back of his head, fingernails scratching him the way he liked it best. “How long did I sleep?”

“Only an hour,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice, “takeout’s on the way. We’ve been reading  _ War and Peace _ for about thirty minutes, now.”

“ _ War and Peace, _ huh?” He chuckles, voice still raspy with sleep, “I’m sorry I was asleep for most of it, know it’s one of your favorites.”  _ I like it when you read to me _ , he thinks,  _ I want you to do it for the rest of our lives. _

“It’s okay,” she replies, “didn’t mind it. You interrupt a lot less, that’s for sure.”

They both laugh at this, and he loves the way it sounds - he could listen to it forever, he could listen to  _ her _ forever, and he is thinking of so many things he shouldn’t say that he has to bite his tongue. “I was a bit of a dick today, wasn’t I?”   
  
“Mhmm.”

“...Sorry about that.” He laces his fingers with hers, noticing the discarded book next to her on the bed. He’s so in love with her it hurts. “I can’t even give you a good excuse as to why, but… I’ll try not to do it again.”

“That’s all I need,” she says, “as long as you’re trying, Jeff. If you need help, you know I’m here, along with every single one of your friends,” she fixes him with a gaze that makes him unable to look away, “but if you aren’t trying and are just… mean for the fun of it, you  _ know _ I don’t tolerate that. Just because you’re traumatized doesn’t give you an excuse.” She pokes his chest and he nods. “I understand,” he promises, and leans up to kiss her when the doorbell rings. They simultaneously shout “not it!”, tapping their noses, and Jeff takes one for the team, crawling out of bed, and then nearly falls to the floor - his legs felt like jelly beneath him.

“You sure you don’t want me to get it?” Britta asks, amusement making her voice light, and he shakes his head, trembling his way to his closet to get a pair of pants.

“Nope, I’m good,” he reassures her, and she watches him go with a smile (and a thousand unsaid words of love, intensity, besottedness) upon her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i worked pretty damn hard on this so i hope you enjoyed it! i couldn't have wrote this without the kindness and encouragement from a few close friends, so i want to thank them for supporting me and validating me throughout all of this. i hope you enjoyed the fic!


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